Things My Mother Taught Me
by servingsarcasm
Summary: The first thing that I can remember is my mother teaching me was how to sing. Well, she showed me how I was supposed to sing. Future-fic. Rachel and her daughter.


**Title: **Things My Mother Taught Me

**Character focus: **Rachel and her daughter

**Pairings: **None specified.

**Length:** One-shot.

**Disclaimer:** I am Ryan Murphy's illegitimate child.

**A/N:** Had this idea for a little while. Been too busy reading the Hunger Games trilogy and HP to finally get it down. Also, Glee comes back in 3 days. HOLLER.

* * *

The first thing that I can remember my mother teaching me was how to sing. Well, she showed me how I was supposed to sing. As a baby, she always sang me to sleep, so much so that I grew accustomed to her voice before going to bed.

Turns out I have a horrible voice, but she still asked to hear me because she insisted she loved it no matter how bad it was. And it's bad. Anyway, growing up she was _always _singing. And when I say always, I mean always.

At breakfast.

In the park.

In restaurants.

She even sang to me at my bus stop on the first day of school.

I guess I should be used to it. I _was _used to it. I mean, she sang for a living. And I'm proud to have had such an amazing mom, but sometimes it was a little much. Jesus, she got us kicked out of the _Olive Garden._

_

* * *

_I was six when my mom taught me how to ride a bike. Living in the city, it was not unusual to see people always whizzing by on bicycles. So one day I asked her if I could do it too. Of course she complied, and the next day I was seated on a bright pink little bike.

After ten minutes, I didn't want to ride a bike anymore. I decided it was too difficult. She didn't give up on me though. We spent that entire afternoon in the park, one of her hands on my back and the other on the handlebar, guiding me. And when she finally let go and I went swiftly down the path, all by myself, I don't think I've ever been that happy in a moment since. Rolling my bike back towards her, she smiled so bright and proud that I wanted to be just like her in that instance.

And later, when we were seated on a park bench munching on some ice cream, she kissed my forehead and told me how happy she was.

* * *

I was ten when we had our first fight. We never really had any issues in our mother-daughter relationship, but one day I was leaning towards my teenage years and I screamed and screamed at her for not letting me go to my friend's house because it was a school night. My face was beet red as I slammed the door in her face and called her things I've never dared to call anyone before.

Needless to say, she left me alone the rest of the day.

Close to dinner, there was a knock on my door and my mom slipped in after a moment of silence from my side. She didn't look too torn up from our disagreement, but her eyes were a little red.

She slid into bed with me and wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me to her. At first I resisted, but eventually gave into her persistent cuddling method. We talked a lot that night, mostly about nothing. Eventually she left with a kiss to my forehead, and I learned no matter what, I should never go to bed angry.

* * *

I was twelve when my mom taught me that winning isn't everything.

She took me as her date to her third Tony Awards in which she was nominated, and it was one of the best nights of my life. I spent the evening glued to her hip, in awe of all the Broadway royalty surrounding me. And when they didn't call her name, I cried. I didn't understand how my mom was so happy for some other woman who won, and she told me that one day she'd have her turn, but perhaps this just wasn't her year. And even as I grew older, with this teaching always instilled in me, I always loved the way my mother would spend at least five minutes a day staring at her six Tonys.

* * *

I was fourteen when my mother taught me how to survive high school. Well, she didn't actually teach me per se. Just kind of told me about her own experience. I knew making the step from eighth grade to high school was going to be big for me, but it hit me the hardest the first day of school, looking up at the huge building as my mom looked on as well. It was a "great school" as deemed by my mother, and we even had to wear uniforms. But I was kind of excited to start fresh and make new friends.

But now I changed my mind. I turned to my mom and insisted we go home and maybe wait another week. And she laughed. _In my face._ She patted me on the cheek and told me to, "Be yourself." And if anything went wrong, to call her and she would pick me up at first notice. I sighed and stepped out of the car, pulling my backpack along with me. I walked up the set of steps, and just as I was about to pull open the door, I glanced back and caught my mom's eye. She was crying. I tried not to get emotional as she blew a kiss and drove off, and I swung open the door to my new school.

* * *

I was sixteen when my mother taught me that boys absolutely, positively _suck. _My heart was broken for the first time. She showed me the correct form of wallowing as we sat on our old lumpy couch, ate cookie dough straight from the package, and watched soaps for an entire day.

* * *

I was twenty when my mother drove home the point to always use protection. I was in my sophomore year at NYU, and I called my mom almost every night, even though my parents lived fifteen minutes away.

The first time she said it, I kind of brushed it off. She was always slightly off the deep end, so I though she was just a bit paranoid. But then, she started saying it every time, right before our 'I love yous'. I didn't say anything for a while, but one night I brought it up. I told her how I was still a virgin (and probably always would be at this rate), and she didn't even need to tell me. She told me how a friend of a friend's daughter was pregnant, and was the same age as me, and she was just worried. I assured her once again that she had nothing to be concerned about, and we ended the call that night with out usual partings.

And about a month later, while going through my drawers for a tank top, I found a package of condoms pushed all the way back, with a neon green sticky note that simply said, "Just in case."

* * *

I was twenty-seven when my mom taught me how to change a diaper. I had just given birth to my own daughter, and I was panicked as I realized I had no idea what to do. My husband was no help, as he assessed the situation and claimed he had a call from work. So I placed a teary phone call to my mom, begging her for help.

She showed up in a flurry of movement, as always, and immediately started cooing to her granddaughter. She sat on the bed next to the baby, and told me exactly what to do. With shaking hands I followed her every command, until I had finally done it perfectly. I squealed in happiness and hugged my mom, thanking her. She looked at me in that way again, kind of a mix of when I rode my first bike and my first day of high school. She rubbed at her eyes and then quickly stood up, telling me she had a show to get to.

Before she left, she put her hands on either side of my face and kissed my forehead, before once again rushing out the door.

* * *

I was nearing forty when my mom taught me her last lesson.

The years had been kind to the Broadway legend, but not kind enough. I was driving my son home from soccer practice when I got the call from the hospital.

_Cancer_.

God, it tore her apart. It tore _me_ apart. She was always so strong in my eyes, and to see her so weak almost seemed wrong. They doctors said she had months, maybe a year.

I spent almost everyday at that hospital. Holding her hand, getting her everything she wanted. She was so quiet, and I barely heard her speak. She started getting frailer, thinner, weaker. But she refused to give in.

* * *

One day in her room, she told me wished she could go in a much more dramatic way. We laughed forever at the absurdity of it, and eventually the laughter turned to tears and I realized that I was losing my mommy.

* * *

One night, she quietly called my name and I immediately came to her. She lifted the covers slowly, and I didn't waste any time crawling into bed with her, wrapping my body around her. I leaned my head against her chest and listened silently to the pounding of her heart.

And then she began to sing. It was so beautiful. She hadn't sung in over a year, but here she was, singing me to sleep just like when I was a baby. Her words were soft against my ear, and I knew I would never know a more beautiful sound then my mother's voice. I knew she was getting tired when she finally stopped, sighing into my hair. I looked up into her dark brown eyes and leaned her head down, kissing her softly on the forehead.

And then she knew it was okay to leave.

* * *

We buried my mother on a stormy day in July. What's more dramatic then thunder and lightening?

* * *

I spent a lot of time at her grave. Telling her about the kids, and eventually, about my own grandkids.

Sometimes I remembered little things I forgot to tell her, and I wept for every moment I never spent with her.

But mostly, I would bring a small notebook with me and sit on the cool grass, writing. Sometimes my daughter would come with me, but most times I was alone. I planned on giving the notebook to her today. I flip it open to the last page and add one last entry. I try to write as fast as I can, because she's graduating in two hours. Finally I finish, and flip all the way to the first page, where I write at the very top in the messy scrawl inherited from my mother, _Things My Mother Taught Me._

_

* * *

_

* * *

"A star has five points," my mother whispered to me the night of my thirteenth birthday. She touched the black marker gently to the skin of my wrist, drawing a small star. "One is for hope, one is for faith, one is for wisdom, one is for truth and one is for love." She paused a moment, her finger lingering on the last point. "The good thing is that one of them is always pointing to you."

fin


End file.
